The Golden Maze
The dinner service was heavy with silver. Crystal glasses caught the light, fracturing it into cold shards that danced on the mahogany table. Arthur Penhaligon sat at the head, his posture rigid, a statue carved from old money and silence. He did not eat. He watched the steam rise from the porcelain, a ghost escaping the vessel. Beside him, his daughter Elara picked at a roast, her eyes...
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